


Burning Dreams

by BryceWrites



Series: Broken Measures [14]
Category: Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Day dreams, F/M, Gap Filler, Gen, Hallucinations, Sad, Weirdness, filler chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9067636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryceWrites/pseuds/BryceWrites
Summary: Kelsi's decisions were slowly killing her; rotting her away inside like poison. But there wasn't anything she could do about it. She was stuck in Georgia, with a regret the size of California.





	

I was running through deep water. I wasn’t sure where I was, but the water was far above my head and deep below my feet. It was almost dark all the way around me, but I knew I was running hard, like something was after me. But my panic slowly morphed into excitement. There was a light in the distance, growing slightly bigger until it was right in front of me.

The light wasn’t really a light; it was a small boy. He looked familiar, like I’d seen him somewhere a long time ago, but his name escaped me.

“Are you lost?” He asked me clearly, despite the water surrounding us.

I nodded. “I can’t seem to find my way.”

“I can help with that. Follow your nose.” He informed me, sniffing the air.

“My nose? But we’re underwater.” I told him.

He smiled, like he knew I’d say this. “Then take a breath.”

And suddenly, the water was forcing itself down my nose and into my lungs. I coughed and gagged, jolting to the side to try to breathe. I hit something hard and when I opened my eyes, I was laying, tangled up in the sheets on the floor.

“You okay, babe?” Juice asked from the door, but I couldn’t see him clearly, as he was upside down for me.

“Uh, yeah. Weird dream.” I told him, untangling myself from the sheets.

“Well, come have breakfast.” He told me with a smile, taking my hand and leading me out to the dining room table. Four different kinds of pancakes sat on the table along with small plates. He was providing us with a sampler breakfast. He even pulled my chair out for me.

“You’re so sweet.” I told him, as he moved around the table to pour me a cup of coffee, dumping in one spoon of sugar to the dark black brew and handing it to me.

“Anything for you.” He smiled, sitting down at the table and sipping his own coffee.

“Can I ask you something?” I spoke, grabbing a chocolate chip pancake and the maple syrup.

“You just did.” He said with a smile.

I grinned, taking my first bite. “Why do you always have pancakes on Saturday? Why Pancake Saturday? Why not Pancake Tuesdays or Waffle Fridays?”

He smirked, watching me. “You remember the first night you were here?”

I thought about it for a moment but nodded.

“You told me you like having some kind of pattern. Your dad always drank four fingers of bourbon when he was watching a football game and three when he watched baseball. Your mom always had two cigarettes between the start of dinner and the finish of it. Your brother seemed to only steal cigarettes on the week the cashier at the gas station got paid.” He explained. “You made pancakes for me the first morning you were here. It was a Saturday. Pancake Saturday.”

I smiled at him, ducking my head. “So pancake Saturday is all about me?”

He shook his head vigorously. “I never knew I liked pancakes this much. I am definitely not complaining.” He grinned.

I nodded, finishing my chocolate chip pancake and grabbing a peanut butter chip one. “Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” I told him sincerely.

He nodded, shoving his mouth full.

“Kelsi.” I heard from somewhere behind me. “Kelsi!”

I jumped. Rob was standing over my shoulder, glaring at me hard. “Table six needs their food so get off your ass.” He told me sternly, shoving the plate into my hands and walking back into the kitchen.

I huffed, heading right for table six. It was Old Man Rogers. He came in every other day at four for dinner. He rotated between the chicken fried steak and the bacon cheese burger. “Hey Mr. Rogers. Here’s your steak. Sorry it took so long.” I told him politely.

He shook his head and patted my arm. “You’re doing great, Kelsi Jo. We having appreciate you around.” He told me, moving quickly to his steak.

I moved back to the counter and started making a milkshake for the pimple faced teenager who gave me funny smiles.

Fuckin’ waitressin’… again. I hated fuckin’ waitressin’. My mind wandered back to Juice, and how bookkeeping was less stress and better pay. I gave the kid his milkshake and brought out three plates of fries for table eleven, who I could already tell wouldn’t leave a tip.

Four or five motorcycles drove by outside and I looked up, hoping to see a Reaper on the back of their leather jackets, but they were the kind of luxury bikes old, rich people bought to feel alive; not the ride or die kind of motorcycles.

“Where ya from?” The kid with the milkshake asked when I got back behind the counter.

“Willisburg, half hour south.” I told him, wiping off the counter.

He shook his head. “Ain’t meant where yer born. Meant where you was before.” Damn, his accent was thicker than mine before I left.

“I was in California a spell.” I told him.

“With some motorcycle riders?” He asked. I looked at him sharply and suddenly the nine millimeter in my waist band, that I’d been carrying since Juice got it for me, felt heavy. “I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I saw ya glance out the window when those others rode by.”

I nodded to him slowly. “Yeah, with some motorcycle riders.” I told him before moving back to the window that sent the food out. Bettie called in sick, so I was working a double tonight. The kid with the pimples was already on his third milkshake and I seriously questioned whether he had enough money to pay for his drinks.

“Table eleven just split.” Rob told me when I came back.

I glanced over to see the four teenagers run out the door, high fiving each other. I had no energy to chase them down, so I collected their empty plates and dumped them in the sink so Rob’s kid, TJ, could wash them. I quickly grabbed my wallet out of the back and put twenty dollars in the till, enough to cover the French fries and sodas they carelessly hadn’t paid for.

“How long was you in California?” The kid asked me as I went about cleaning the milk shake machine.

I shrugged. “Couple years.” I didn’t really remember. I knew when I left here and I knew when I got back, but I didn’t remember much of the time between leaving and finding Juice.

“Ya like it out there?” He asked me.

“Why so curious?” I asked, moving to wipe off another section of counter.

The kid shrugged and sipped on his milkshake. Another couple came in and I grabbed two menus, asking what they’d like to drink.

The kid with the milkshake stayed at the counter another two hours, coming within a half hour of closing time. I was starting to put things away when I noticed he still sat in the same spot. “You want me to get yer total?” I called over my shoulder.

“It’s $17.68. I’ve been keeping track.” He told me, laying $30 in cash on the counter.

I went to the register and rang it up for him. He was right, tax included. “You good with math?”

He nodded. “I like figuring math problems out in my head.” He shrugged. “You miss ‘em?”

I turned to him, not sure what he was talkin’ about. “Miss who?”

“Yar motorcycle riders.” He spoke.

I shrugged, wanting to feel nonchalant. I knew I couldn’t, but I wanted to try. “Sometimes.”

“Just sometimes?” He asked.

I was going to say yes, but I saw the way he looked at me, like he knew the real answer. I sighed. “I miss them a lot. But ain’t nothin’ I can do ‘bout it.” I told him, taking the twenty dollar bill and moving to get him change.

“The rest of that’s fer you.” He told me, sliding off the bar stool.

I looked over at him, watching him for a moment. “Damn near sixty percent.”

He shrugged. “Closer to fiddy-eight, but it’s what I got in mah pocket.”

“Why?” I asked carefully. He looked like he could be a Junior or Senior in high school. I never knew a high school kid to give over ten percent, if they even tipped.

He smiled at me, showing off uneven teeth. “My ma worked in a diner for almost twenty years, just tryin’ to pay for me on ‘er own. She told me it’s the little things that mean the most. Couple extra bucks in yar pocket might help ya get back to yar motorcycle riders.” He told me with a grin, moving towards the door.

“Hey kid. What’s your name?” I asked.

He just kept walking, out the door. Through the glass, I saw him cross the street and disappear into the dark past the street light.

I looked back at the change in my hand and I silently thanked him, looking back at the glass door. He was a good soul and I wished the world had more of those. I pocketed the change and wondered how the kid had ended up at the diner.

“That was sweet.” A voice said.

I looked up to see Juice sitting at the bar stool the kid had recently vacated. I knew it wasn’t Juice, but it looked just like him. I nodded, looking back at the cash drawer.

“Gonna come see me with that money?” Juice grinned widely.

I shook my head. “You’re not real.” I mumbled.

“Maybe not, but you sure are. Kelsi baby, you fill out those curves like a beast.” He grinned widely.

Since coming home and cooking for the guys every now and again, home cooking, I had gained a little bit of weight. I didn’t mind though. I’d always been curvy before I’d gotten with Danny, but he’d made me lose weight so I wasn’t so chubby or fat as he liked to call me. I was happy with where I was, but I knew Juice had never seen this part of me.

I shrugged, moving to lock the door behind the kid. I went back to the cash register, counting the till.

“Baby, don’t ignore me.” His voice came quietly.

I shook my head. “You’re not real.” I had meant for it to sound strong and solid. But my voice wavered and I felt my eyes heat up, sending tears into my vision.

“I could be. All you gotta do is come home.” His words spoke from over my shoulder, right behind me.

“I am home.” Again, my voice shook and I set down the dollar bills, losing my count.

“This isn’t home, baby girl. Home is where you’re loved and cared for. Home is where you’re safe. Home is where you cuddle up to your man, even when you’re feet are cold are ice. Home is movies on Netflix and popcorn fights.” He said and I could’ve sworn I could feel his fingers run gently across my shoulders.

A tear fell from my eye and I just felt the sadness overwhelm me. I leaned forward to brace myself on the counter, feeling weak.

“Kelsi Jo! You better be workin’ on countin’ that cash.” Rob’s voice yelled from the back room.

Maybe I’d made a horrible decision.

Maybe this wasn’t home.

Maybe I shouldn’t have left Juice.


End file.
